This is another elegy to a favorite poet of mine,
and probably many of yours too, "Note to James Wright."
"Who am I to write this?
Shit, James Wright, fruit, leaves, a bird, earth now.
How does it feel, lonely where you are?
Does it feel good or what?
Last night, I drank bourbon and this morning
ate strawberries, ate them all day to 4:30 and no further.
Who am I to stop for you if I could if you cared or had time.
A photographer today shot me nude.
May, noon, the whole song, James Wright,
queer high greens and branches.
I had a chance today to be happy and blew it.
Sat with a book after he left, not dressed.
They bit me bad, the black flies, singing.
Good for you gone, not to have to bleed even a little.
I mean, so long.
Let's say to live free is one note, and you're why.